The Other Side of the Mirror
by Sirabella
Summary: J.J.'s world is upended, and a simple request for leave spirals into fullblown catharsis. Focused on J.J. and Hotch, with occasional bursts of others. Rated, probably too conservatively, for the usual CM stuff.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The title isn't mine; it's from the song "Alice" by Stevie Nicks, on her album of the same name (as the title, that is).

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It was a curious trick, she thought. Working with profilers was turning her into someone she couldn't see past. Her tears were soaking into the shoulder seams, searing her eyes as they were trapped and pooled in the fabric; her nails were lodged in the bunched material at the waist. She could feel the sobs choking their way out of lungs that were signaling the need to inhale. But that grief wasn't hers. That defeated little blonde thing shaking and sprawling on Aaron Hotchner's lapel – on her _boss's office floor_ – she couldn't feel her anymore. She'd finally learned it, she thought incredulously. She'd unplugged herself. And it had been sudden, taken less than a second of open exposure. She'd finished everything, she'd shattered in front of the one person whom she'd taught to take her seriously.

And far more important now than the acidic ache that was mercifully snaking out into oblivion like a severed tow line, more important than the cradle of limbs twining around her shoulders and through her hair, was a jarring vacuum beating where the glow of certainty she'd come to rely on had torn itself away. Her tears now ran for the loss of it.

J.J. had never really cultivated Hotch's good opinion. She just wasn't the type, and he certainly wasn't the type to appreciate anyone trying to worm their way into his graces. She'd simply accepted her role as press liaison, cheerfully taking on any ownerless team obligations she could find. The victims deserved everyone making themselves useful at all times. And so she'd only had time and energy enough to establish any personal bridges with those who were eagerly receptive. Garcia, who was enthusiastically molding her into a custom gal pal, to J.J.'s constant amusement. Reid, who seemed happy to fluctuate in her eyes between the guises of a little brother, a wiggling puppy and an approval-seeking encyclopedia. And that was only _after_ he'd progressed beyond his star-struck admirer phase. And Morgan... a big brother. The embodiment of 'high school jock' with whom J.J. had always been completely at ease. He tugged her ponytail, she swiped his little black book, and so on ad infinitum. Elle had never warmed to her, although once in a while Morgan had been able to serve as a conduit between them. Still, it was unnerving to lose her in such an inevitable way. Even in departure, Elle had managed to persevere in her habit of making J.J. feel extraneous. And here was Emily Prentiss, too new to fit into any of J.J.'s categories.

Which left only her senior officers. Gideon was impossible. She'd been forced to decide that right off. She'd barely finished shaking the man's hand when she'd simply given him up. There were walls a mile high in his eyes, tipped with barbed wire, she suspected. Guarded with a drawbridge plus moat. Only Hotch ever really made it inside, and he was telling no secrets. Which was probably the reason, J.J. reflected. She'd resolved to simply do her job, and if she caught some of Gideon's regard along the way, then so much the better. But waiting around for it was fatal.

And as much as she avoided thinking about it, Hotch was too much like his other half for his own good. Or anyone's. Unlike Gideon, he was quick with praise, concern or certain well-timed motivational tactics, but all without venturing beyond some invisible trench line of which only he could judge the dimensions. By focusing firmly on the job at hand, letting it define her waking hours, she'd managed to avoid striving to please him, but all the same she hadn't been able to prevent a small hope from creeping up that he'd notice her efforts. The friendships, the sanity-preserving jokes, the team dynamic, the satisfaction when they made it in time, the support when they were silenced by a gruesome defeat – somehow none of it could stamp out the sorrowful curiosity she felt about the inner workings of Hotch's mind.

And one day she'd looked around and realized she'd made it. She wasn't his unknown variable anymore. Whereas before he'd simply trusted her to do what she felt was needed in playing puppeteer to the press, he trusted her now to magically eradicate obstacles and accomplish whatever he wanted. The calm reliance in his gaze had systematically dissolved every last doubt. She had ceased to wonder about her place on the team because she knew she'd earned something most people didn't even know was there.

Today, as on all the days since, that certainty in her stomach was better than coffee. She'd made it in before anyone else, except for Gideon, and she could never be quite sure that he'd gone home at all. Two hours of relative normalcy followed: questions from news agencies about the BAU's efforts on their latest case, whether the second victim might have lived if they'd been just a little bit quicker, a little bit smarter. Only Morgan knew just how much of this badgering she dealt with on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis, how much it took out of her when her own mind finally began echoing the doubting voices on the other end of the line. And she'd only let it slip after practically drowning herself in beer. She didn't plan on getting plastered with any of the team ever again. She'd learned her lesson; inhibitions were non-negotiable, no matter how often Morgan flashed her that wheedling smile.

The profilers had enough to worry about. They didn't need this crap from people who didn't have a clue what it took just to get out of bed every day to face bloodied corpses, to try stone-facedly asking a mother questions about her murdered child, to comfort terrified little ones crying for the parents who would never hug them again. To fall asleep at all. To leave each case behind when it was done.

J.J. liked her office. It was warm, it was safe, and it was hers. Sometimes, when she stayed behind, she thought she caught a flash of envy, even resentment, in the eyes of a colleague or two when they dragged themselves in after a particularly soul-grinding assignment. She was alert, she was intact, and it was an insult. But the fact that she was part of the equation said everything.

So she tried to spare them the aftermath as best she could. This morning was no picnic; she was tiring rapidly. But all of a sudden there was one phone call that blared all the others out of existence. The only one she'd never thought would come, not like this… a lightning strike out of a blue sky.

"There wasn't anything to do for her," her aunt explained timidly. "She was gone in a second." Her voice grew frightened at the lack of response. "Jennifer, dear, you know her heart has always been bad. I'm sorry, sweetie, it just finally caught up with her."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the sweet reviews, everyone. It's particularly gratifying because I worked a lot harder on this story than any of my others (as you can plainly see from some of the older ones; I try not to reread them). But if you have constructive criticism, please, speak up. I always like to know it if you think I've gone too far off character, or something.

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J.J. exhaled hard, forced air through her vocal cords, and what finally emerged was: "Thanks... for calling. Take care of Dad." She gently laid the phone down in the cradle, not really listening to the plaintive protests that had continued emanating from the handset, and looked around. Oh, God, Reid was headed up to her with cups of coffee clutched like manna from heaven in both hands. She really couldn't deal with him right now.

J.J. leapt up and shoved the door closed, making a mental note to buy the person a drink who'd had deadbolts installed on the insides of Quantico office doors. She collapsed back into her chair and let out a deep breath. She needed some time to think. Switching her office phone over to voicemail was an inadvisable but necessary step. Peace was ensured.

The others would have to know. Maybe she could tell Hotch, and he could just spread the word. Half of them were parentless one way or another, and they were profilers; they'd understand and wouldn't crowd her. But the antsy, evaluating glances were just as unappealing a prospect.

She summoned up all her nerve, exited the office and made a straight flight for Hotch's door, determinedly ignoring the bullpen below, clinging to deafness as she dodged shouts of her name whizzing up at her. Unfortunately, all her years as a soccer star had never taught her how to dodge football players. The same thought sped through Morgan's features as he blocked her at the head of the staircase. "Intercepted," he teased her, almost comically baffled when she rolled her eyes at the failsafe grin that he knew had always netted him anything he wanted from a woman. J.J. had never had the heart or inclination to disabuse him, but right now she was about ready to shoot him with his own gun. "Hey," he murmured, taking a light hold of her elbow. "What's up?"

"I have to talk to Hotch," she answered in a firm monotone. "It's important."

Meanwhile, Reid and Prentiss had joined the convoy at the top of the stairs, earning baleful looks from other agents intent on moving between floors. "Is it a case?" Reid wanted to know, sounding as if he knew it wasn't. J.J. was briefly overrun with a wild, adolescent compulsion to kick them in the shins and sprint for the parking lot. So much for the discretion of profilers. But in these heels, she wouldn't make the fifth step, let alone a clean getaway. And there wasn't really any escape.

"No, you can finish your coffee, wonder boy. I just have something to discuss with him."

"J.J. It's us," Morgan pleaded. "Talk."

J.J. sighed, leaning a hand on the railing, manically evading the distress and affection being leveled at her by her two friends. She focused instead on Emily Prentiss' expression, laced only with a hint of anxious curiosity. Not for the first time, she was thankful for Emily in Elle's place. "My aunt called. My mom's heart finally gave out. I need to ask Hotch for a few days off." She forestalled all responses with a raised palm. "Trust me, this has been a long time coming. The time bomb's gone off, that's all, and it's probably better this way. And if I need anything, you guys will be the first to know." She steeled herself to meet the horror and sympathy head-on for a few seconds, then she spun away down the hall, amazed at her own success in stalling the cavalry.

She felt stronger as she approached her supervisor's door; it was open, and he was on the telephone. He hadn't seen her yet, and she took a few moments to observe the way he communicated so much information and authority without giving away anything of himself. It was comforting to know that handling even the most personal matters was business to him.

As he neared the end of his conversation, he looked up and raised his eyebrows at finding her lurking in the doorway. He motioned her in, and she shut the door behind her, moving to stand in front of the desk. A short while later, he hung up and duly fixed his attention on her. "What can I do for you, J.J.?"

"Sir, I need some vacation time. Three or four days, if that's possible." His eyes narrowed at the honorific she usually reserved for Gideon alone. Oops. "I have some family business to take care of."

"I'm sorry, J.J., but our current caseload barely gives us time to sleep. You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," he said gently.

Damn him. He was handling her, and that even, measured, _infuriating_ look was efficiently eroding her cool outer layer of detachment. The fever of her aunt's voice was slinking back in. "I've got to go home and help. You don't know what it's going to be like. Just... chaos. My dad won't be able to face any of it, and my aunt will be planning some kind of block party or reunion bash if I don't keep an eye on her. And... I can't let those people invade the house like that. _Her_ house. She always kept it spotless. And they'll stand around eating casseroles and inspecting all her things, and struggle to find nice things to say while they try to remember the last time they said two words to her." She was pacing blindly, and although she kept groping around for the grand manner she'd used on the others, the words just wanted out. "It's her funeral! It should be about her... and the people who give a damn that she's..."

She pulled up short, completely frozen. Strangely, she was surprised by the hand steadily clasping her shoulder. When had he come up behind her? Oh, God, it was all here now, and she couldn't hold on. "Don't..." she whispered. But it wasn't any good. With J.J.'s splintered defenses went the strength of her bones, and her knees had barely brushed the carpet before she was wrapped up tightly in a warm suit-jacket cocoon. The tears were instantaneous, as if they'd happened upon an open tap, they were terrifyingly violent and, to J.J., interminable.

And that was when she stepped out of herself, illuminating every alteration that sharing her life with these people had wrought in her – people who stubbornly carried this safety net all through the devastation, into every corner of the deep dark.

But she was ashamed of dropping down into its weave, so afraid she'd lost everything she'd built up for herself in Hotch's eyes by crumbling into fragments in his arms like a petrified child. And, even worse: today that was exactly what she was.

But now that boat had sailed. Her pride was the only thing still protesting this unexpected comfort, but it clamored more insistently as the trembling catharsis fed on her shame and distress, showing no sign of ebbing, and Hotch was forced to vocalize his worry, unconsciously imbuing the hand in her hair with a nervous new rhythm. "Hey, shhh... You can do this, J.J."

She muffled a small, damp laugh into his collarbone. "Yeah, nothing back home really compares to the media sharks practically laying siege to this place."

Hotch said nothing as he supplied her with a box of tissues and joined her again on the floor, unhesitatingly reestablishing contact with a hand on her shoulder, but when she'd mopped up her face, she met his eyes: his glare was eloquent enough. Hotch's idiosyncratic glare that let people know he didn't believe a word they said and he wanted the truth _yesterday_. The glare he usually reserved for suspects. J.J. never wanted to see it again at such short range. But this was beyond embarrassing. Still, her only other option was the fire escape. And she'd borne witness time after time to the things Hotch did to people who ran from him. Morgan's tackles were the least of their problems.

"Your jacket," she offered lamely. Hotch shrugged at the pool of smudges left by J.J.'s tears and mascara that had transformed his lapel and front pocket into a soggy mess.

"The dry-cleaner can fix that."

J.J.'s smile was fragile, and she felt uncomfortably tearful once again. Taking a deep, exhausted breath, she pulled herself together and nodded sharply, letting her eyes drift around the office, not really knowing what she was seeking. She found it, though, in a framed photograph near the window, a shot of Haley with her son in her arms, swinging him around and laughing up at the camera. J.J. knew Hotch hadn't taken the picture; she'd been there when he'd arrived straight off the plane and found the envelope from Haley on his desk, postmark indicating she'd spent the week that had been swallowed by the case at her parents' home. J.J. flinched. Hotch's absence from this lighthearted scene of love and warmth was painful, as it was to him, she knew. And Haley's smile was so bright and... _compensating_. Now, Hotch was waiting, dark eyes fixed on her, the slight frown behind them growing slighter as she straightened and faced him. He was right – she could do this.


	3. Chapter 3

"I told the others it was better this way." Summoning up a Herculean effort not to shed another tear, J.J. crossed her arms and focused on interpreting the play of expression over his face. He seemed impassive, patiently waiting for her meaning to shift into something communicable. Or he would have to most people, anyway. J.J. could outline the traces of sympathy, not diminished, but retracted... because she knew what it looked like on him. As surely as she could identify a suit of Hotch's if she saw it anywhere in the world, she could find each fleeting spark of emotion that he allowed himself, although more often than not, interpreting them was a job for Aladdin and his lamp. Now, though...

She'd gotten to him, that much was clear. And she could see looming alongside the things he was feeling on her behalf a poisonous, cringing empathy all his own that spelled out in piercing detail just how much this whole encounter was costing him. She sniffled a little to buy herself some more time to think.

With Gideon around, it was far too easy to overlook Hotch's sensibilities. Gideon took things so hard. Hotch had to hold it together, or he and Gideon could never work in tandem like this, much less sustain the close personal friendship that was so unbreakable it tended to give the illusion that the same was true of the two of **them**. Far from the truth... Gideon's nearly bipolar tendencies and Hotch's efficiently regulated temperament could be equally destructive; but it was dawning on J.J. in her overwhelmingly receptive vulnerability that the latter was a reaction, a mold Hotch constructed around his friend's personality to contain both their sanities. It wasn't only a learned state of defensive readiness; it was a deliberate shield between them and the inhuman atrocities to which they bore unrelenting witness.

And that was his reasoning behind this surreal little pow-wow. J.J. reined herself in with a vengeance as the ridiculous urge to throw her arms around his neck raced through her. He could have granted her leave and sent her off to pack. He could have accepted her evident reluctance to share any emotions with him of which she was ashamed. But he hadn't; he'd just held on. He hadn't forced her into weakness; he'd turned her to face the mirror in safety, where she'd have him to tell her what was real and what was nothing but smoky, nightmarish shadow.

He looked faintly amused by her stumbling scrutiny, but that too was instantly submerged. Was a sense of humor that just sat gathering dust the same as a non-existent one? 'Stop analyzing Hotch,' she scolded herself. She needed to focus—on buoying herself, on letting him boost her into the fresh air after her plunge to the icy bottom. _Just like Gideon_.

Bringing her thoughts back in line was unpleasant in the extreme, but it was feasible, and she fought the need to flee as she gathered her words together. "Morgan, Reid, Prentiss... I thought I only said those things about my mother because I was trying to get away, but they're true. And they're not. She didn't want to die; her heart condition was constantly hanging over her head, but she wasn't in pain. But when my aunt said she was _gone_... the first thing I thought was that that time bomb had finally gone off, and for half a second, I felt... relieved." J.J. kept her head down, because the tears were on the move no matter what, and she wanted to say it all. "It wasn't better for her; it was better for me. Not having to dread listening to my voicemail after every case. I haven't been home more than twice in the last five years... not once since I started this job... because I've been afraid of being there when she... having to watch..."

"J.J." Hotch's voice was soft and knowing. "No matter how good you are at this job, and no matter how many times you think you've seen it all only to realize you're not even close... it never gets easier to watch someone you love slip away from you."

"But now I wish I'd been there," she gasped. "She deserved that from me... She was the one I called after – after Georgia... She was obviously horrified and sick, but she never once made it about her, not even when I told her how close it really was, back in the barn." J.J.'s eyes fell back to the carpet. She hadn't planned on saying that. The others basically knew what had happened at Tobias' farm, and she knew they were about as interested in hearing the horrific details as she was in reliving them. Then again... Hotch's indrawn breath, and the way his hand slid up her shoulder so that his thumb was resting at the base of her throat, made her think twice about having left something out.

"How close, J.J.?" No lies. No more hiding.

"Half an inch," she whispered. "They all charged at once, and I just wasn't fast enough. The last one reached me. It jumped. Its claws got my arm, but its teeth"—she touched her index finger against the joint of his thumb, just above her clavicle—"grazed me there. It was dark, I couldn't see anything, and I could feel its breath on my face... it smelled... like its last meal... and that was when I realized I wasn't that woman. She'd been chained and alone... I thought Reid was still around there somewhere, but... anyway, I dragged my gun up under its ribs. And... I fired. And it fell on me." She took a ragged breath. The flashbacks had finally stopped a couple of weeks after the return to D.C., but now they were menacingly circling again. "I tried to push it off, but it wouldn't move. I realized I had to get its claws out of my arm first... I'd just gotten free when the barn door opened. All I saw was a bright light coming towards me... I almost shot Morgan." Hotch's eyes were looking past her now, flashing like a kaleidoscope—probably piecing together a vision of another J.J., one who hadn't managed to raise her gun in time. His grip was tightening.

"Ow," she murmured gently. He snapped his attention back to her, returning her smile with a small, sheepish one of his own. "You got Reid back," she reminded him. "I felt guilty enough as it was, but if..." He nodded his acceptance, and she sighed. Trading in absolution felt odd – it was hard not to view the rest of the team, at one time or another, as just another slice of the misery, with no power to de-claw each other's demons, and she knew the others felt it, too. And, looking at Hotch, it was impossible to truly forgive someone who would never forgive himself. Gideon, she thought, had probably tried; they'd spent hours at the hospital together, waiting to hear, one way or another. But then Lee had slithered into their lives, and when his threat had finally leaked away down an empty road, he'd taken Elle with him. And a part of Hotch, too—the part that could see past his responsibilities, the part that could just think of his team as a group of agents under his command rather than charges in his care.

And sometimes it annoyed her. They were all adults, for God's sake. Even Reid, although he often didn't seem like one. Hotch had no business blaming himself for every mistake they made, every plan that went to hell. Especially when it hadn't been his plan to begin with. Like splitting up right outside an unsub's barn. Or shooting a man in cold blood.

But she had never managed to stew in her impulses for long, and holding onto the irritation was just too difficult. For one thing, she didn't really want to, and for another, he was such an entertaining paradox that all she could muster in the long-term was amused exasperation. The mother-hen routine was very funny in a man who liked to spend most of his time pretending to be made out of marble. Especially when he tried to do—and usually succeeded in doing—both at the same time. But she wouldn't laugh at him, because he might be embarrassed enough to stop.

"You would have liked her," she said decidedly.

"Was she like you?" was Hotch's casual rejoinder.

J.J. smiled, at both the question and the subtle compliment. "Not really. She loved the small town atmosphere. She wanted to treat all her neighbors like family, and no matter what, she kept hoping to get the same treatment from them. She didn't mind change, but she wanted everything to stay familiar, personalized. To me, our town felt so claustrophobic, like I was trapped in an observation bubble; but to her it was comfortable... and safe. So I didn't call her too often, because what could I say? All I had were stories to make her afraid of her own shadow."

"But when you called her and told her about Georgia..."

"I felt so stupid, and so guilty. I had completely underestimated her. I always wanted to protect her illusions, but the only thing she needed more than her cozy life was to be a part of mine."

Hotch diplomatically ignored the tear snaking down her cheek. "And, from what you've told me about your conversation, she knew what _you_ needed. After you'd told her what happened, and probably scared her senseless, did she even once ask you to find another job, or come home?" J.J. shook her head miserably. "She was proud of you, J.J., and she knew that the only person who can say whether or not you can do this job is you. And if the reason why you stay is ever drowned out by other considerations, you'll know what to do about it."

"Not bad, padre," she teased. Hotch blinked at the sudden levity, then smiled as he watched J.J. scrub her face dry with the heels of her hands. It was done; she'd made it. He looked every bit as relieved as she felt.

"Just two more pieces of advice," he intoned solemnly, delighting her as he played along. "Number one: if I might suggest, lady, the use of these tissues in lieu of your sleeve. And two..." He dropped the game, but before he could say another word, the door blasted open.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I am really sorry for leaving this story unfinished for so long. I really didn't mean to; when I wrote chapter 3 I thought this one was going to be right behind it, but I guess it wasn't :( Thanks for your patience, if you've come back to read the end!

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They both found themselves staring up at the source of the detonation—not the fall of Pompeii after all, but Jason Gideon, framed in the doorway, looking completely astonished at the sight in front of him. Whatever he'd been expecting, this wasn't it, and J.J. couldn't blame him.

"Sorry to interrupt," he muttered. "I just... we got a case, and since they couldn't reach either of you, they ran screaming to me." J.J. grinned; she'd forgotten to lock the door, but Hotch had sneakily forwarded his phone. He'd hit her with both barrels of the fussing routine today, and it was a nice feeling. Gideon, catching her amused glance, burst out with: "My God, J.J., have you seen your face?"

Hotch snorted. "Nice, Jason. And we wonder why you're single..."

J.J. managed to hold in her giggles—mostly—and answer the question. "Not lately. Why, is there something wrong with it?" she queried innocently.

"Actually, J.J., my second suggestion was going to be that you make the nearest sink your next stop," Hotch admitted, smiling at her feigned ignorance. "Here endeth the sermon."

"You're going to need some cover," Gideon inserted wryly. "I'll go with you." He turned back and looked J.J. hard in the eye, watching Hotch help her up off the floor. "And to answer your question: as a matter of fact, there's something right with your face."

"The mystery lives on," J.J. whispered in an aside to Hotch once she'd found her voice again. This kind of thing was what made Gideon so confounding. He would seem to ignore a person for weeks at a time, and then without any warning at all he'd toss out a comment like that one, something that would abruptly zap his victim into the realization that he'd been watching all along. And no one enjoyed being sucker-punched, not even with such a compliment.

Hotch inclined his head in mock defeat. "She's all yours, Jason. For the next ten minutes, anyway. Then I want you in the conference room, and don't let her follow you in. And J.J. – take as long as you need, ok?" J.J. smiled slightly. Although she heard pealing out like a symphony of carillons the directive to get her head screwed on straight before she showed her face again, it was really just a gentle nudge toward the edge of the nest; he was really asking.

"Ok," she agreed softly. Then, even more quietly: "Thanks, Hotch." His hand slid from her elbow, and he nodded briefly, smiling in a way she couldn't remember ever seeing him do before—letting it fill his eyes, unimpeded. It very nearly brought her tears storming back (she couldn't wait to stop feeling so defenseless)—it was the first time she'd ever seen him look so carelessly sincere. Her attention automatically glided away to the picture frame across the room, glowing there in the brilliance of the morning. This smile belonged in that photograph. "Do me a favor?" He nodded warily, and she shivered. Normally she wouldn't dare, but today... "Call your wife."

For a few seconds, impassivity arrested his features once again, and J.J. was left reeling. She couldn't even begin to wrap her mind around all there was to lose. For all of them. But the tension rushed out of her as part of that smile came back, and then he nodded and wished her luck, and Gideon was ferrying her to the ladies' room. She smirked as he walked unconcernedly in with her, and as she washed away the tears and mascara she saw him watching her in the mirror.

"You ok?" he asked finally.

It was like being speared with a cattle-prod. God knows how many volts just blazing through her, and he was still standing there, _watching_ her. "I'll be alright," she managed. She thought of Hotch, flashed back to him sitting cross-legged on the floor of his office, the picture of Haley and Jack, the smile he'd given her as if she'd just done him the biggest favor of his life, and not the other way around. "I hope we all will be," she whispered.

Gideon walked up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "Oh, I think we're on the right track. We'll both keep an eye on him, and he'll turn out fine." She smiled at the ease with which he said 'we.' "But I was asking you." He hesitated and actually seemed nervous. This day just kept slipping farther and farther into unreality. He awkwardly patted her shoulders. "I just wanted to make sure... The BAU kind of has two section chiefs, you know."

She leaned into his grasp, just feeling everything he wasn't saying. "We're in the women's bathroom," she suddenly blurted out.

He smirked. "Well, if they start sending search parties after me, they'll never think to look in here."

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She was alone again, back in her office, packing the spare clothes she kept there for the "on-call" times when the team was in the field and needed her on the ball. She had decided to sneak out during the briefing; after this kind of a morning, she just couldn't face all the sympathy. She'd call them each individually from her parents' house. The only one who would pitch a fit would be Garcia, but she'd understand. She'd see them when she got home.

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_4 days later_

J.J. heaved a sigh as she sank down into her desk chair. The office was empty. She wondered why. They all knew there was always work to do, if one were fit to do it. Which she was, now, thanks to her team and the time they'd given her. Her dad and her aunt would manage without her, and the hole her mother's death had left behind was smooth enough at the edges to live with.

Maybe they'd caught another case. But wouldn't they have called her? Even if she couldn't join them, they knew she'd want to be kept in the loop. Didn't they? Did they remember she was coming back today? She hadn't slapped post-its on their foreheads, after all, just a casual comment last night on the phone to Garcia. But things like that usually stuck, too.

There weren't any files on her desk with new cases to go over. That was strange. In fact, her office was a little _too_ clean. Not a single surface had dust on it. She smiled. That would have been Reid's idea. The only thing that helped his mind work better than coffee did was an organized and carefully tended workspace.

And there were plants. She never kept any plants, or a pet, or anything that would suffer by her job's unpredictability. But now she had a ferny plant and a little flowery cactus on her windowsill. She suddenly remembered Emily's desk and a similar green invasion that had started about two weeks before.

And there were two framed pictures on the side-table that hadn't been there before, either. She picked up the left one; it was of the team, that night at the bar before Georgia. She remembered that. Haley had grabbed her camera out of her purse and gone nuts with it. J.J. wasn't a profiler, but she was used to the way they thought, and she felt their shared sadness at the revelation that Haley was never without her camera. J.J. had been angry at Hotch but hadn't been able to hold it for long. He had been very sweet to Haley that night, had held her hand, let her take as many pictures as she wanted to, even kissed her several times. J.J. knew, and knew Haley knew, how hard it was for Hotch to do something like that in front of all of them. Of course she was his wife. Of course they all knew that he loved her. But profilers didn't draw conclusions from knowing things. They started with the things they knew and used those things to help them understand the things they saw. And showing his affection for his wife in public was a rare concession for Hotch.

Gideon was missing from the picture because he hadn't been there that night. But that would have been too much to expect of him, and it didn't matter, because she had the memory of his solicitousness four days ago. The other picture was just of the 'kids.' She remembered how Morgan had simply looped one arm around her and the other around Emily, and Garcia and Reid had sat in front of them at the table making faces at the camera. The expression on Reid's was especially funny; he looked like a cross between a mad scientist and a reject from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

"Thought you might want to have those." J.J. jumped around, and the picture clattered across the desktop. "Or not," Hotch added teasingly.

"Jesus, Hotch, you scared the hell out of me." She was still trying to calm herself, and she leaned a little on her desk as she took slow, even breaths.

"I can see that." His amusement faded, and he took a step towards her. "How are you otherwise?"

She stood up straight and faced him, head on. "I'm back."

She felt her firm stare returned threefold. He was looking deep into her, as far as he could, and she had the sensation of his eyes burning holes all the way out the back of her head. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Her face screwed up in confusion. The greenery, the photographs, Reid's Mighty Maid impersonation... and now this. "But you don't seem to be."

"I was a little worried. We all were. I guess you can tell... we sort of redecorated while you were gone. Just trying to make you more comfortable."

"I _am_comfortable... what would make you think I wasn't coming back?"

"It's not that," he protested. "We just thought you might, understandably, need a little bit more normalcy in your life right now. Some time at home, with your family."

J.J. grinned. "Here at the BAU we make our own kind of normal." For emphasis, she pointed at the photo in which Reid and Garcia were busy employing previously undiscovered facial muscles. Hotch took the joke, but he still looked rather unconvinced. "You think I need... what exactly? My dad to hang around me as if the rest of the world didn't exist and make me feel guilty for leaving him alone for a single second? My aunt to cook for me and call me Jennifer and fuss over me? I spent most of my time there either thinking about my mom or wishing I were back here at the BAU, with all of you. This"—she snatched up the photo of the team gathered together at the table, cozied around the camera, and thrust it at him—"this is what I missed."

Hotch nodded. "What about the cases?"

J.J. gave a little facial shrug. "It's what we do." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Maybe if Elle had cried all over you, she'd still be here, too."

There it was, finally; the little doubting frown between his eyes eased itself away. "Elle blamed me. And maybe she was right to be angry. I should have taken better care of her."

J.J. was angry. "You tried to help her. She wouldn't listen. You tried to get all that... _poison_... out of her, and she just ignored everything, like it was her right to make you feel like you had to fix what was wrong with her life, with the whole world. Maybe you made a mistake, but she made a lot more. You know, when I found out how it happened, that she just went right in and started to fall asleep without noticing anything wrong, I was furious with her. She just always took so much for granted. I knew you never would have been that careless."

"Thank you, J.J. – that means a lot," he said softly. She wondered what he was thinking now, looking at her like that as she stood clutching the picture frame to her chest, cheeks burning. He gestured with his chin at the photo in her hands. "I have a new picture in my office, too," he murmured. J.J. looked up, almost disbelieving. "Maybe if Elle _had_ 'cried all over me' I would have known how to help her, and she would have helped me."

J.J.'s eyes were stinging – _damn_ him, what was he turning her into? "I think we might be headed for a repeat performance," she complained, sniffing hard and swiping at her face.

"I think I'll bring in backup this time," he said lightly, although he was clearly a little rattled at the suggestion of facing down another round of waterworks. She laughed, and he was off the hook.

"The others?"

"They're in the round-table room with enough coffee and doughnuts to keep Reid happy for about 15 minutes or so. We told him that they were for you, but, well, if you want any, we'd better get in there."

She finally managed to dry her face, ostensibly without losing any of her dignity or her mascara this time, and nodded happily. She set the picture frame down carefully on her desk, and then as she turned back to face Hotch, she couldn't help it; she walked up to him and hugged him, without any of the embarrassment she thought she'd feel if she ever crossed this kind of professional barrier with him. As he stepped back, keeping one hand on her back to lead her out the door and in the direction of the voices and laughter drifting out of the conference room, she couldn't believe she'd left for four whole days.


End file.
